


The Iron Crown

by Galacteddy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical Fiction, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, General Jake, Horrorterrors - Freeform, King Dirk, Kingdomstuck, Light Angst, Lots of that, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Slow Burn, Strategy & Tactics, Symbolism, War, basically an excuse to write a fantasy au somewhere that isn't like a house in the woods or a castle, don't wanna spoil too much in the tags, the johndirk is only implied or like hinted at as a cosmic possibility, thought of spicing it up a little bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-04-20 20:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14268897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galacteddy/pseuds/Galacteddy
Summary: You're known by many names, outside of the confines of your own rooms.The Dragon King of Derse. King Dirk. The son of the late King David and Queen Rosaline. The prince who became a king too soon, the ugly dark crown atop your head sat there too early. The last hope your kingdom has left to push back against the apparently unstoppable force of an invasion that's lasted for too long.It's with the weight of your very identity, of your ancestors and their accomplishments, of your land and position, that you asked for help.





	1. Of the land of the Crown

There is a cold, dark type of magic lurking in the shadows of Derse.

 

It's in the very ground that bears the dark fruit and sweet smelling evening flowers your homeland is known for.

It's in the tales children are told, in the warnings not to go outside at nighttime in the fear that the sky will open its giant, inky maws and swallow them whole. It's in the whispers of the townspeople when yet another young girl goes missing, when another child strays too far in play and never finds the way home. It's in the recommendations of worried parents who plead their sons not to approach the shadows, as they're the gateways to the Horror.  
It's in the nightmares of the adults, and it's in the warnings from the elders.

 

It has been there since before there even were people to mark the passage of time. As the sun, the moon, and the stars, it's one of the constants around which the world turns.

 

Like a pole on a magnet, it has a twin. An opposite force of equal and opposite power. The very light that shines brightly only across the thousands of acres of woods separating Derse from her own twin, Prospit.

 

There are few things tying the two kingdoms together. The expanse of land divided equally between the two, the common language spoken by both Dersites and Prospitians. The myths and stories that speak about a time before the Glass Crown and the Iron Crown meant anything at all.

 

Taken as a simple creation myth today, the tale of the Skaian Empire is perhaps the most well-known legend that both nations share.

 

Long before Derse, Prospit, or even Alternia existed, the whole continent used to be a single Empire. Skaia. There was no separation of Light and Dark magic, and night and day always followed each other into their neverending cycle.

There were no humans living there at the time. The legend speaks of a species gone long extinct. Carapacians with black or white outer shells, dressed in garish colors.  
Rich in culture and with a booming economy, Skaia was like a gem set into the planet's surface.

 

It wasn't greed, or some other vice of men, to bring the great Empire to its end in the span of days. It was the very nature of the forces governing the world.

 

You see, Light and Darkness have been playing the same game of chess since the beginning of time.  
The land was their chessboard, and it was a game that Light was doomed to lose from the start.

 

But before every trace of life was lost, before the end of the battle that would have eternal Darkness befall the land, a handful of powerful heroes found a way to prevent disaster.

Like one would separate two rowdy dogs from each other to avoid them ripping their own throats out, they decided to separate Light and Dark as well.  
It was a difficult spell, one that required all of their bodies and souls to even work. Sometimes, heroic sacrifices are the only thing that can provide the rush of magic necessary for the strongest incantations.

 

But they cast it. And it succeeded.

 

Light would receive the expanse of the great fertile hills and sand dunes to the West and South. There, the sun would make every rock shine like a priceless gem or metal. The rich fruit trees to the west would only bear good fruit, and the isles to the south would be the home to the richest fauna and flora on the surface.

 

Darkness would be closed away into the rocky soil to the East and North. Where the ocean would fling itself against the coast with more force, and the salt would reach every corner of the kingdom no matter how far inland it was.

 

Day and night could no longer follow one after another, as it went against the newly reformed laws of nature. They were the very symbols of the two forces locked away.

 

So Light's domain would benefit from a gentle, perpetually luminous sky. It came at the cost of the nighttime. Stuck in a continuous day, the darkest it would ever get now was the pale gray light one usually would see before sunrise. Respite from the rays of the sun would come only if the clouds covered it.

Meanwhile, Darkness' domain would only ever see the night and the early hours before and after its fall. The sun now banished to outside its borders, the sky's only hues were purples, pinks, brilliant reds, and the occasional orange of a distant twilight across the border. A beautiful sky sure, but it meant that only the moon's silvery shine would illuminate the land.

The carapacians, unused to adapt to new environments, soon died out. Extinct, they left room for humans to occupy the newly formed kingdoms.

 

And so Derse and Prospit were born.

 

There have been many advancements in the field of magic theory, and you now know that the real reason why Light magic and Dark magic never mix is simply that they're already perfect elements, opposites on a spectrum not designed to meet its other end.

 

Even still, there are old, inexplicable relics in the oceans and strewn across the verdant hills to the west, that seem to have been there far longer than any of you and your ancestors have.

Dissonant from the harmony of everything else around them, they're like a missed note in a concerto. Out of place, foreign.

 

It all comes to your mind briefly, as you watch the white horses of a foreign delegation make their way to the entrance gate to the capital. The contrast between their bright garments and the deep purples of the fading light coming from the sky is something you've never expected to see.

You doubt Prospitian offspring has ever set foot so far into Derse territory before.

 

Any other ruler would fear the sight of Prospit's traditional gold and whites approaching the very capital on horseback. You, however, are not comparable to the other kings and queens Derse has had before.

 

Crowned at the age of 16, you're perhaps one of the youngest heads the Iron Crown has ever rested upon.

Five years after the coronation, you don't think anyone doubts your abilities as a ruler. The fact that it's the menacing whispers of the Horrors that have been guiding your hand so far is only secondary.

 

Everybody knows what the Iron Crown's curse is.

Men are dying on the battlefield trying to defend the freedom Her Imperious Condescension has been threatening for decades, but Derse has never really belonged to itself.

 

It's to protect those same people that you're doing this.

 

Pride is deep set into the mentality of Dersites. Asking for help when in need isn't necessarily something you even think about doing. But you also have a deep aversion to losing, so you'd rather grit your teeth and bear it than let someone else force you to roll over in submission.

 

You turn away from the window you're staring out of as soon as the delegation reaches the gates. There's no time for idling about.

 

You have more important things to do than stare out of a window at what could be your homeland's doom or salvation.

That is, take your place on the grand staircase at the main entrance to the castle.

 

The guards have already been instructed to let them in, even though you're quite sure that it's not something they're going to do gladly. Derse's people and Prospit's rarely ever got along well.

 

The streets of Gealach are winded, and it's very easy to get lost in the many dark alleyways, but you doubt it's going to take your guests much longer to reach the palace.

 

After you sent your letter across the border to be received by the king, you had to split yourself between making the last preparation for your departure to the capital and to plan for the meetings that were to take place there.

 

It hadn't been easy, but when has anything ever been easy for you?

Since the day you were born, you only ever experienced life in the palace with the war knocking at your door. Planning for diplomatic meetings was not something you have ever been particularly familiar with.

But with the resourcefulness you're well known for, you've managed it quite fine. It would be a disaster to throw it all to the wind because you were distracted by the glimmer of gold in Derse's dreary lilac afternoon.

 

It would also be a stain on your pristine reputation.

 

You're known by many names, outside of the confines of your own rooms.  
The Dragon King of Derse. King Dirk. The son of the late King David and Queen Rosaline. The prince who became a king too soon. Maybe more that you're not aware of.

 

It's with your full name and title that you introduced yourself in the missive sent to Prospit, asking for them to meet you at the castle great arched doors.  
With the weight of your very identity, of your ancestors and their accomplishments, of your very land and position, that you asked for help.

 

Your steps are quiet on the stone floor of the castle as you make your way to the entrance to greet your guests.

 

Dressed in your richest crushed velvet jacket, fine lace around your cuffs and neck, and a crown too dark to suit anybody's head, the only thing that makes you stand out against the rest is your own coloring.

 

A member of the Royal Family doesn't need to be introduced for people to figure out the blue blood running through your well-bred veins.  
No one in Derse can match the otherworldly glow that only powerful inherited magic can give. Your fair skin and the constellations of freckles on it that your father gave you along with the right to the crown. The wild red curls and stature your mother gave you along with the ease with which you use magic.

 

Standing straight-backed on the marble stairs, the purple light of Derse's twilight shines off the crown on your head. There's a statuesque quality to your posture.

 

Everything about the meeting has been studied and tailored carefully to make the right impression, at the right time. Desperation is like water freezing in the small crevices of the cliffs during winter. You only notice it once it solidifies and breaks off the rock. Massive boulders falling into the ocean below, a symbol of Derse's destiny if you don't do something about it.

 

Seeing the delegation approach, guided by a guard, makes your resolve harden, and you look ahead proudly.

 

The contrast between them and the city around is even starker up close. The garish colors of the detailed embroidery on their garments, the dark heads of hair and nut brown expanses of skin.

 

There's symmetry in opposites.

 

You take a bracing breath before you open your mouth to speak.  
A crowd is already making its way to the town center, looking on curiously at the scene. A spectacle is what you shall give them, then, if that's what they desire.


	2. Of Prospit's delegation

Usually, not much happens in the streets of Derse's capital. Since the war began, the Royal Family has mostly been stationed in far-away forts and temporary camps set wherever there was a battle to be fought.

 

It's mostly the elders that remember what living in Gealach used to be, back when one could hope in finding interesting news while listening in on their neighbors' conversations.

 

Now, the only major gossips one can get include illegitimate noble sons, or yet another chunk of the territories to the north ending up in Alternian hands.

 

People don't listen in on others' conversations as much anymore, it's better not to know about these things that one can do nothing about.

 

It's much more common to hear fake news than real ones, anyway.

 

So if you were to be a citizen of the capital, you'd be faced with the dilemma of actually believing the people saying there's a Prospitian delegation at the gates, or returning to your work like a sane person would.

 

Unfortunately, that's not who you are.  
  
The choice isn't yours to make, because you're the King, standing on the stone stairs that lead to the Palace's entrance, with the very real looking Prospitian delegation in front of you.

 

These days, very few choices are actually left for you to make. The whispers of malevolent forces are a constant, omnipresent in the back of your head.

 

"Allow me to officially welcome you to Derse," you say. Loud enough for everyone to hear. It's performative rather than a simple, genuine greeting.   
  
"I am well aware it's nothing like the sunny lands across the border, but I hope you'll enjoy your time here. Servants shall take you to the rooms that have been prepared for your stay here; as for the horses, the stableboys shall take them to rest, drink, and be fed."

 

It only takes a small gesture made with your hand for a small group of servants to step forward and begin helping their yellow-clad counterparts to unload the carriage of the chests full of necessities the Prospitian King decided to take with him.

 

The stableboys take longer to arrive, busy whispering among themselves about the pure white coat of the Prospitian steeds.

 

You're well aware of how rare seeing such pale hues is, in Derse.  
  
You don't blame anybody for gawking too long at the foreign delegation.

 

You see the King shift on his saddle, artfully embroidered clothing looking worse for wear than probably intended. The way he hops off of it tells of a man that's used to horse riding for much shorter stretches of time.

 

Travel isn't a clean, easy endeavor, but usually, a couple of spells woven into the fabric do well in keeping it clean and make it harder for it to tear. Well, it's commonplace in Derse. You're not quite sure about the procedure across the border.

 

You've learned, back when you still had no worries larger than learning new sword fighting techniques, that Prospit doesn't use magic as much as Derse does.

 

A great part of it is because magic thrives best in the shadows. If the mind has the freedom to imagine what's hidden by the thick curtain of darkness, then it will be far easier for spells to be more effective. Easier for spellcasters to create new, powerful enchantments to make life easier or harder.

 

Prospit is by nature the Light Kingdom. Its inhabitants are spoiled by the everlasting light of the sun. The very clouds feed prophecies to them and there's no true reason to create artificial resources in such a prosperous land.

 

Derse, on the other side, is made of different matter, more propense to the arcane by virtue of the overflowing power into its very soil. As Prospit won't allow for Darkness to seep into its land, Derse's environment isn't suitable for Light and transparency.

 

Under the purple light coming from the lilac sky above, even the Glass Crown on the other King's head doesn't look as pure as it should.

 

The material, a symbol of honesty and clarity, looks almost murky in the dusky Dersite afternoon.  
  
The clothes on the courtiers, instead of looking lively, look washed out. Cold.

 

The King's voice, when he speaks, is nothing like that. The youth clearly visible on his tired face is just as apparent in his words. It must be easier, to rule during peacetime.

 

"Thank you, King Dirk, for taking the time to meet us here instead of the battlefield! Not sure my ambassadors and I would've been able to handle the trip to the mountains all that well!" he says, finishing it off with a laugh.

 

You note that he looks very handsome. in a boyish sort of way that betrays his age, with dark locks of thick hair ruffled by the wind and luminous eyes hidden behind thick glasses.   
  
The entire delegation is a perfect definition of what a Prospitian should look like, bulky in build and tall. There's no point in occupying space if there's no need for you to hide yourself away in shadows.

 

You can easily see the expressions of what almost looks like horror on the townspeople gathered around you.

 

It's very uncommon to see people showing emotion in public and humor is only accepted if its purpose is a sarcastic retort or a sardonic observation.  
Surely not among kings.

 

You don't mind it as much, used to the treatment of soldiers on the front rather than of nobles in a palace. It's much easier to feel like you're more than just your titles when you're treated as a real person.

 

"I should thank you for accepting to come here in the first place, Your Majesty," you reply to him, not saying how deep your gratitude runs.   
  
"It would be cruel of me to keep you seated on your horses for much longer. We will have more time to chat during the evening feast, after you've settled and made yourself comfortable in your rooms."

  
It's a dismissal as good as any.

 

You bow your head one last time before retreating to the inside of the castle.   
  
As you turn, you can see that the delegation is being taken care of diligently by the servants you've appointed to the specific task of making sure their needs are completely tended to.

 

Very well.

 

Normal etiquette rules would've asked for you to stay behind, entertain your guests for longer than a simple greeting, but you have more things to take care of before moonrise.

 

In your careful planning, you've already had schedules for the upcoming days written on papers that have been sent up to the rooms prepared for the Prospitians.   
  
They will be fine, especially considering the fact that your courtiers and servants will rarely leave them alone long enough for them to actually feel like they need something they have yet to be provided.

 

You have both a feast for the evening and a ball for tomorrow to organize.

 

* * *

 

Moonrise comes almost too soon for your tastes.

 

The bones in your back crack unpleasantly when you get up from your desk chair. The candle that has been lit when you sat down to work is almost half consumed.  
  
Outside, the moon is peeking out of the clouds. The only strong light you will get during the day.

 

In a short time, you will have to put on fancier garb than you're used to, pretend amiability at a table, eat more food that you need to, and concentrate on not being poisoned all at the same time.  
  
It's not exactly something entirely new for you, but it also isn't something you've ever enjoyed doing.

 

You allow yourself only a couple seconds of landscape gazing from your window before you get dressed in the clothes that have been set out for you and leave the safe space of your room.

 

The Crown glints in the magic light coming from the panels inlaid seamlessly into the tapestries and stone of the walls. The pink hue does nothing to soften its edges, or to ease your thoughts.

 

You arrive at the dining room early, but it seems that the foreign King is already sat on the other side of the long table.  
  
He goes as far as smiling when he sees you. His teeth are very white, and you note that there's a small gap between the front two. An odd detail to notice.

 

  
You decide not to focus on it for too long and nod pleasantly in the direction of the other.  
  
He addresses you as soon as you sit down in your designated seat, at the other end of the rectangular table.

 

"Your Majesty! It has only been few hours, but it sure is a pleasure to see you again," are the first words that come out of the Prospitian ruler, and you're not entirely sure how to take them.

 

Genuine kindnesses aren't a familiar concept to your people.  
  
It takes you a couple of seconds of deliberation to respond.

 

"Pardon me the rudeness of not accompanying you through the castle, but I'm sure you know how hard it is to juggle all the planning one's required to make for these kinds of events. I hope you've found our palace to your liking?"

 

He looks at you with a wide smile, and even from across the table you can see a crinkle around his eyes that speaks volumes of how open the Prospitians can be when it comes to their emotions and true expressions.

 

"I sure did! How fascinating, the ways you've found to compensate for the lack of sunlight," he says, and he surely does sound genuine still. It doesn't sit quite well with you.

 

"The heating tapestries especially remind me of the cooling mosaics we have at the palace in Samas," he says, only to hesitate before continuing "I've yet to wrap my head around the designs on them, though. The amount of detail in them and how intricate they are is simply astonishing!

  
"I have tried looking at the designs on one of them to try and come to the end of it, but I'm afraid I would soon reach insanity. I would enjoy having some of my own artisans come here to learn the craft. It would be lovely to see the way our two lands' styles could mix into something new..."

 

He seems to taper off into an almost embarrassed thoughtfulness. The eagerness to form friendship of a young Prospitian man that is still growing into the responsibility of a crown.

 

The servants bringing in the appetizers don't make enough noise to cover your voice as you answer.

 

"Your appreciation of them is flattering to my Dersite pride to say the least. I'm sure that we could come to a future arrangement for it, or at least to have some tapestries commissioned for your palace. Probably with different spells woven into the fabric, as I know that Samas lies pretty far into the south. You already have enough warmth, I'm guessing."

 

Your answer seems to please him, but he doesn't have the time to continue the conversation as his attention is stolen away by another noble, sat down further down the table.

 

You don't get to speak much after that. The feast includes more servings and dishes than you would ever think necessary for the number of people sat at the table. On the front, having more than stew is already considered a good dinner.

 

It's the type of difference you didn't give much weight in your mind to, before it became your reality to be on the other side of that coin.

 

The foreign King seems to be in his element, entertaining with ease the nobles addressing him, and complimenting every dish. He makes comparisons between what the food back into his own home tastes like, or the way it's prepared.

 

He talks of his late father's passion for cooking and how growing up he enjoyed spending time in the kitchen to bother the cooks and steal pastries for the sake of creating problems, rather than because of a particular taste for sweets.

 

The courtiers seem to be completely baffled by the openness with which he speaks about lighthearted topics. They look at each other in confusion when the King actually laughs at the barbed quips they throw at him.   
  
By the time the dessert arrives, the atmosphere around the table has morphed into something actually pleasant.

 

In a way, it's its own kind of magic, what the King did.

 

You almost enjoyed sitting and studying the way he seemed to slowly but surely direct the diners into topics that would in no way reveal too much about himself or political matters.

 

Small talk made into an art. Effortless endeavors to only ever play on familiar ground, even in foreign land. Your admiration for him has grown by many levels by the time you've finished the sweets brought to the table.

 

He doesn't take any, and laughs when asked why.  
  
"I think I've had enough sweets to last me a lifetime, as a child!"

 

There's nothing particularly funny about his words, but the other nobles laugh along with him. Eased into conversation by perhaps too much wine and the masterful way the Prospitian ruler seems to speak to them.

 

It's entertaining for you to watch. You didn't even need to give much input into this at all, and this is perhaps the first time you ever hold an official "event" and end it without a headache.

 

Prospitans may not use casual magic, but it's quite obvious that their talents are definitely not going to waste.

 

It almost makes you feel bad to get up from your seat, bringing all conversation to a halt.

 

"As much as I dislike the idea of ending the feast too early for you, I believe it's time for us to leave the servants to clean up the table, and for most of us to enjoy the hours left to the night in sleep."

 

It's a testament to the good mood of the people at the table, that nobody comments on the fact that rarely do people ever sleep well during Derse's darkest hours.

 

Among the shuffling of finely clothed courtiers, as they leave the room in groups or pairs, still conversing idly, you make your way to the foreign King.

 

You don't have to do anything to get his attention. He turns to you with the same smile he had on his face at the beginning of the feast, and claps you loudly on the shoulder.

 

You note now how stark the difference in stature between the two of you is.

 

"King Dirk! I didn't hear you join the conversation much, tonight! I can't say I didn't hope for more back and forth between the two of us, but the way I understand it you Dersites aren't very fond of sharing details of yourself.  
  
"I hope I didn't bore you, or even worse annoy you with my ramblings."

 

He speaks to you as one would with an old friend. You wish you didn't have the Crown sitting on your head to taint your thoughts.

 

"I was actually very much enjoying myself admiring your talent with words. I've never seen those nobles so easily driven to laughter over banter. It was very impressive, I must say."

 

You step away from his proximity and the warmth of his hand still on your shoulder, a sly tilt to your lips.

"I hope you won't be stealing away the entire population of the palace tomorrow at the ball, Your Majesty, as it would be a very big inconvenience in the long run."

 

His laughter echoes in the now emptied dining room, and he gives you his answer with a roguish grin that you're sure has landed many suitors at his feet before.

"I will try my best not to, but I guarantee nothing! And... King Dirk, please call me by my given name. We're equals, after all."

 

A concession you're given the impression you perhaps shouldn't give, but you nod anyway.

 

"Very well, then. I will leave you to direct yourself to your bed. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, King John."

 

His blue eyes glint almost indigo in the artificial light of the palace, and he bows his head as he wishes you the same and leaves you to yourself. His boot-clad feet make too much noise as he walks down the hallway, toward the guest wing of the castle. 

Your own steps are almost soundless as you take the opposite way, towards your personal quarters.

 

After you reach your bedroom and remove the Iron Crown from your head to put it in its usual resting spot, your thoughts are finally allowed to reach a conclusion they were blocked from before.

 

Friendship leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in your mouth, and the warmth of a Prospitian hand and a candid smile stays behind longer than you'd thought they would.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while, huh? Sorry about it, but life is hard and also I'm not too good at this whole writing thing.   
> Also don't worry about the JohnDirk, it's only going to be hinted at. I think Dirk has a type and I also enjoy that ship, and this is my fic so if there's a place I'm allowed to do this it's here.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please send feedback!


	3. Of Derse's day

Morning takes its sweet time to truly shift from night to day in Derse. There's no sunrise to go off of, just a sudden absence of the silver moonlight that leaves the land in unpleasant darkness. A specific type of vacancy of the light that makes the earliest hours of the day into the worst to be awake through.

 

Needless to say, that's exactly the state you find yourself in.

 

If the pale shine of the moon is a comforting force when it's there, it's also an ephemeral solace that you only get to experience for a small portion of time during the night. The rest of it is lost among sleepless tossing and turning, worried pacing, and fending off intrusive thoughts that you have no excuse for. There's no metal headpiece you can blame the unpleasant work of your mind on, just your own psyche and the long-term exposure to what Dersite kingship truly is.

 

It's even worse when the sky is clouded. Intermittency of the light is better than complete absence, but it doesn't keep the shadows at bay any better.

 

You can pretend that you have a good reason not to be asleep after only having slept a handful of hours (of fitful rest, anyhow), but the truth is that you would be in this same situation even if there had been no foreign delegations sleeping in the stone rooms of the palace.

 

You have a penchant for overthinking problems and situations in your head. Turning them on all sides until you've memorized each facet of them, brought in no way closer to a solution in doing so, but comforted by the thought that maybe your final choice will be the right one.

 

The sitting room adjacent to your actual bedroom has many chairs strewn around it. Each has a specific use, and despite the fact that they all look different in shape and color, they have all clearly been collected with care and good taste. The touch of someone well versed in designing rooms aesthetically appropriate for a king.

 

There's a couple by the fireplace, meant for when you have more private discussions. One of them is clearly more worn down than the other, which only has scuffs at the edge. There's only one person nowadays that ever sits on the nicer chair, and you get chastised every time for putting your feet up on it.

 

One sits by the tall bookcase, a chair that you rarely ever sit on anymore as the time for casual reading is never there. The most well-used high backed velvet chair that sits by your desk. A long ottoman that never gets used for its true purpose, and usually holds trays and piles of documents rather than royal feet.

 

The bay window seat you're currently occupying. You've been watching the moondown for the past hour, maybe. Going over in your head what the next few days were going to be like.

Going over your plans, your expectations when it comes from both yourself and the Prospitians, what the front was like when you left, and what it probably is going to be like in the future depending on the outcome of the rest of the stay of the foreign delegation.

 

Mornings are a calming experience, usually. The quiet of Gealach's streets before the townsfolk wake up and begin their day, the absence of birdsong, and the whistle of the wind outside the tall, narrow windows of your personal quarters.

 

If the absence of light is a worrying element, the silence is a balm on your constantly overexerted mind.

 

You're expecting the servants to bring you your breakfast, so the sound of the door opening and the tray with your food on it doesn't surprise you. The servants know better than to wonder about why you're up this early, and they just leave the tray on the closest flat surface to you, while someone else changes out the sheets of your bed.

 

Commodities you find to be unnecessary rather than helpful, but you'd rather leave the servants with a job and an easy way to obtain money to feed their families. You only wish they'd abstain from gossiping amongst themselves about your sleeping and eating habits.

 

But that's a wish that's unlikely to ever come true, in Derse.

 

What comes as a surprise is a knock on your door. It confuses you, as the servants never come twice and even if they did forget something, you doubt they'd bother with knocking.

"Come in," you say, trying not to let your confusion transpire.

 

You're in no way dressed for a formal meeting, wearing clothes that while still finely made are still considered too casual for official events. Your hair has yet to be brushed, and your crown sits on its usual spot, glinting menacingly from it when a shift of your head makes the lilac natural light shine on its edges.

 

It's a surprisingly young kid, probably one of the sons of some servant, who looks like he's fighting an internal battle between the excitement of having a reason to come into the King's quarters and the terror of receiving what's probably the first truly important task of his life.

"Your Majesty," he says, with his head bowed low, "the Prospitian King asked me to tell you that he'd like to request your presence down in the foyer. His Highness said that he wants to speak to you."

 

He looks like he's very proud of having carried out his task, and he nods to himself minutely. A spark of innocent youth in the midst of this kingdom's ugly reality. You doubt another child growing up outside of the castle's walls would be as pure at this age.

Still, you can only admire it and hope for him that it will last long enough to matter.

 

"Very well," comes your answer, "tell the King that I shall be there soon."

 

The boy nods at you and doesn't wait for a dismissal to close the door behind him as he leaves. You hear the echo of running steps down the hallway.

 

You spare a glance outside, and it looks like the thick curtain of the night's darkness has been lifted, leaving room for the purple backdrop of Derse's day. As actors on the stage, the people outside the confines of your room begin carrying out their roles.

You sigh and move away from your seat to change your garb into something better suited for the day's tasks. The crown on your head feels like a heavy but familiar weight. An anchor on your head to keep you grounded in your role.

 

The voices of the Horrors seem to have nothing to whisper to you for now, and you will accept any blessings you can get. Your headache needs no more fuel added to it, anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

King John gives an impression of confidence despite the fact that he looks like he clearly doesn't belong in his surroundings.

 

He spoke of the designs on the tapestries as if they confused him, but the carefully embroidered pattern of geometrical blue lines on the white linen is just as confusing to you. Dizzying spirals that give you the impression that if you were to follow the thread from beginning to the end, it would appear to be made out of a single, continuous line.

 

Every other thing around him is made of dark marble and deep purples, and the artificial light inside the castle washes out the pale colors on him into something that isn't as harsh but still feels completely out of place.

 

The piece that sticks out the most, the fact that he seems to be genuinely happy to see you despite the muted shadows under his eyes.

It's disconcerting, to have someone of rank equal to yours be so openly friendly. You have your own ways of dealing with insincerity, but Prospitian nature seems to make even the malicious voices speechless.

 

"Good morning, King John," you tell him as soon as you're close enough. "Hopefully the night wasn't too harsh on you?"

 

It's a nice way to ask someone if they got a wink of sleep, when you doubt that they have.

He surprises you by smiling and nodding. A voice in your head that doesn't sound like yours at all but has become just as familiar tells you he's not being truthful.  


"The plush bedding did wonders for my sore back, really-" and you can tell on your own that it's a lie of omission. "And I've never slept in such smooth silk sheets! You Dersites sure do know how to craft wonderful materials, not only gorgeous to the sight but also to the touch."

 

You decide that there'd be no reason for you to insist on how a comfortable bed often does nothing when the shadows seem to be quite literally closing in on you in the darkness. But then again, maybe having a comfortable surface to lie down on is enough for the Prospitian to fall asleep with ease.

 

"It makes me happy to hear that," you say it with no discernible emotion. Verbal niceties that you've been taught to say and never truly mean. "But I also can't help but wonder what might be the reason why you've asked for me."

 

"Well, King Dirk, I will understand it if you have something else planned for the morning, but I would love to go for a walk through the castle with you," he goes as far as looking sheepish about it.

"I do think that it would be important for the both of us to get to know each other better, especially since the alliance we're here to discuss would entail a lot of interaction between the countries we represent."

 

It's a perfectly valid reason, you have no way of disputing that. The only issue you have with it is how you can still feel no double meaning behind his words. Under the apparent political advantage of having a friend in the king of your neighboring kingdom, there is what seems to be a true wish.

 

Prospitians will probably never cease to surprise you.

 

"My schedule for the day is negligible at best. It will be my pleasure to accompany you through the hallways of the palace."

What you don't mention is the fact that it will also be a perfectly good occasion for you to gouge what the king is truly like.

 

He may have yet to give you the impression of being anything less than wholeheartedly sincere, but you haven't survived being King of Derse for so long thanks to a particularly trusting nature.

 

Unaware of your thoughts, he seems to brighten up at your answer. As if you could've actually refused without it being an enormous faux pas in front of your entire court and the few servants he's brought with him all the way from Prospit.

 

"If what the people here say about you is to be believed, then I sincerely doubt you'd ever allow yourself the luxury of having a whole morning to relax, King Dirk," he says, and you realize that you should probably not fall for the pretense of guilelessness he puts up.

 

There's a very sharp shine of intelligence in John's blue eyes when he speaks to you, softened at the edges by the layers of good-natured words and emotions he surrounds himself with.

 

When he tilts his head to invite you to lead the way, and the transparency of the Glass Crown on top of his wild black hair makes more sense to you somehow.

As unnecessarily ornate as the metaphor is, it's more like the crystal clear water of a cave than that of a flat, two-dimensional layer. There's depth you don't expect, the kind that demands wariness from you. Expecting a truce from the constant alertness your position demands from you is perhaps too much.

 

Instead of giving him a scathing remark, which is what voices that aren't yours are suggesting you do, you let your lips curl into an amused smirk. You wouldn't mind getting to know King John better at all.

 

"If we were to believe every single thing that the people have to say about me I'd be spitting fire and murdering knights from atop a castle, King John. Still, it would be a lie if I were to deny your words," you tell him. Your answer seems to please him, and he laughs airily.

 

"Shall we get started, then? The palace is much larger than one would think looking at all the spires that take up most of the outside," you don't even wait to see if he's already after you.

You don't really need to, considering that Prospitians don't seem to have any qualms about walking around with loud steps.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The castle in Gealach is an imposingly dark silhouette in the city's skyline.

It stands impossibly tall with its stone walls seemingly reaching for the dark sky above. The impossible architecture of it makes it look more like a cluster of carved stalagmites than a castle where people live.

 

Built in a time where creating such a castle should've been impossible, its walls seem to be filled with the same type of obscure magic that makes up everything else in Derse.

It's the same magic that keeps it upright, when the weight of all the stone arches and spires that comprise its outside should bring it tumbling down like the rocks of the cliffs that it overlooks.

 

Built right on the edge of the rough cliffside, the only things that can be seen past it are the dark, loud waves of the cold ocean, and the many rocks that protrude from the surface like shards of earth against the power of the water.

 

Even if the outside hadn't been so terribly off-putting to people unfamiliar with Derse's nature, the confusing layout of the inside would be just as confusing to a foreigner's eyes.

 

Many hallways that have no purpose other than wind through the space, to create more alcoves and hiding spots for whoever needs them. Rooms that seemingly have no purpose other than just being filled to the brim with incomprehensible objects and what looks like supplies used in dark spells.

Balconies with no railings and windows with no glass to cover them, stairs that lead to closed off walls and ceilings. Doors hidden behind tapestries, and the artificial pink lights that cast terrifying shadows on the stone walls.

 

But despite the apparently useless features of the castle, there's still room for what one would normally expect in a castle. The grand ballroom where tonight's ball is already being set up, the library where you used to spend many hours as a child, meeting rooms with silencing spells cast on the walls for secrecy.

 

As you walk through the halls and tell King John tales of both your childhood and the history of the people that came and went before you and lived in the same space you're occupying right now, he looks like a child from the countryside invited to the big city.

 

His company is very pleasant, especially when he surprises you with clever responses and questions to your tales about the castle. He seems to have a deep curiosity, but he doesn't quite understand most of what goes on in Derse. It's not quite due to ingenuity, but it could be easily mistaken for it.

 

You've always been one to love the mentor part, explaining things, and almost showing off your knowledge about the topics you're best versed in. You'd almost define the morning as relaxing, if the thought of the front didn't occupy most of your mind.

The more time you waste in the palace, without ensuring Prospit's support, the more time Her Imperious Condescension has to plan her next attack.

 

Once you arrive at the lower floors, where the kitchen and servant quarters are located, you're reminded of the time of day by the fact that John's stomach seems to react to the smell of food coming out of the large doors to the kitchens.

 

He looks as surprised and embarrassed about it as one would expect, but the surprising thing that he does is turn to you with a mischievous grin. Before your confusion shows too much on your face, he speaks in what you could definitely call a conspiratory voice.

 

"Say, Your Majesty... is there any likelihood that we might be able to come up with some suitable loot from the kitchens if we were to sneak in?"

 

You're suddenly hit with the realization that despite his position and status, King John is, without any shadow of a doubt, an absolute fucking hoot to hang out with.

 

"I haven't snuck in the castle kitchens since I was ten years old, but since there is a ball planned for this evening and it's almost the time for lunch, there is no way there aren't bite-sized pastries set out to cool," you feel the displeasure of the Crown like tiny pinpricks in the very surface of your brain, but for the sake of your own youth you decide to ignore it.

"I hope you can be quieter than you've been on our walk, however. Dersite ears are very keen."

 

He doesn't seem to mind the teasing, and instead, he winks at you slyly. You remember him mentioning last night that when he was a child he'd do this very often.

It doesn't surprise you that he'd still be willing to do it now.

 

You should perhaps be more wary of the ways he could have been using this tour around the castle and of the implications of his willingness to steal food from the kitchens, but you'd rather trust your instinct than the malicious thoughts that never belonged to you in the first place.

 

"I think that the best way to do this would be to have you go in and ask the kitchen staff about tonight's menu," he starts telling you in a hushed voice. "Tell them it's to make sure that there aren't peanuts. I'm terribly allergic to them, I'm afraid."

That's a very specific information that could possibly get him murdered. You make a mental note to remind him later not to say things like that in a foreign land.  
"While you distract them, I'll come in and I'll try to snatch at least some of the freshly baked bread I can smell from out here."

 

This is absolutely not the kind of planning you expected to make with King John when you invited him and his ambassadors to speak of an alliance. But you guess it's a good enough lesson when it comes to the Prospitian way of making action arrangements.

 

You nod at him. "Very well, then. Try to keep to the shadows, there's enough of them to keep you hidden, even though what you're wearing is far too flashy for it to be safe."

He gives his white jacket a look and winces. At least the careful embroidery darkens up the bright color of the fine cotton.

 

This is absolutely the dumbest thing you've done since you were fourteen, probably.

 

 

* * *

 

 

About ten minutes later, you're out of the kitchen and eating warm bread in a hidden away corridor of the castle. As if you've done some great crime that would get you in trouble.

King John has been smiling wide, his gapped front teeth in full view, since you came out of the kitchen and he was there with his arms full of bread and some small blueberry pies.

 

"This is absolutely the silliest, most unbecoming thing I've done since before I was crowned," you tell him. The bite of it is taken away by the fact that you have stolen bread in your hands and a small grin on your face.

He laughs at that, a hand to cover the mouthful of bread that he was busy chewing.

 

"That's so sad! Aren't you only a couple years older than me?" he says after he's swallowed. "It must be really tough to be at the head of a country like Derse. You guys don't seem to have it easy at all, from your territory to the fact that you've been at war for decades now."

 

Before you can tell him that you don't need his pity, he continues talking.

"I admire you a lot, King Dirk. Even though we're almost the same identical age, you've experienced so much more than I have. I don't even think I've got this being king thing figured out completely, while you already seem to have made yourself into one of Derse's best-known rulers."

 

You're not sure how to respond to it, now. Instead, you stare at the cooling bread in your hands. You feel like, despite the apparent childishness of the act, there might have been some deeper reason for having pulled the silly stunt of stealing food from the kitchens.

 

Taking your silence as a sign to continue, he tilts his head up, towards the tall ceilings of the castle, and you notice that even though he does look very much mature, there's still patchiness on his cheeks and chin.

There's no way it could ever be fair that both of you have been crowned so early.

 

"The only thing we have in common is the circumstance under which we've been crowned, I think," he sighs. King James of Prospit died only a couple years after your own father had, his death is still a sore spot for Prospitians. Or so you've heard.

"The Glass Crown is much kinder to its wearer than yours, so maybe I cannot empathize as well as I should. But it's even more of a reason to believe that this is not something people our age deserve. It's not fair at all."

 

He turns to you again, and despite his words, he does look older now. More mature, in a way. He's such a wild ride of a man, and it reminds you of someone else you know. One of the few people you love that is still alive to this day.

 

"There will be no real use to the talks planned for the next days. I already planned on sending some of my best men as soon as I received your letters."

That definitely comes as a surprise to you. The only way you show that is through an arched brow. You have yet to take another bite of bread.

 

"Prospit and Derse are supposed to be like twins. Two faces of the exact same coin. Even if we didn't send our men now to fight off the Empress now, way too many will die later. I'm no fool, I know that as soon as she takes Derse she'll turn her eyes on Prospit.

"And what an easy target we'll make for her then, with the ocean on one side, and a front to fight on on the other. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place,"

 

The dark whispers have quieted down as if King John's speech was worthy of listening to even for them. A rare occurrence, but you can tell they're impressed. He does look very regal right now, even with half-finished stolen bread in his hands and crumbs at his feet.

 

"I am not that good of a fighter, in no way do I have any experience when it comes to leading people into war. But I have the possibility of helping out with resources like my best lieutenants and general, and as many men as you'll need," he concludes his speech with another bite to the piece of bread in his hands. A bit anticlimactic but you'll take it.

 

"What I think, King John, is that you're already well on the way to becoming an impeccable king. We just have to make sure there will still be free kingdoms to lead after this war," the change in the atmosphere is obvious now.

"No matter what the price and outcome will be, I refuse to leave anything untried. Even if our chances are low, I will die before I let the Empress conquer Derse."

 

The smile you receive from John is the brightest you've seen so far coming from him. It gives you the feeling that the alliance that apparently is already secured is not only pertaining to our kingdoms but also between the two of you.

But that sounds way too pretentious, even for you.

 

What you really mean to think is that you're quite sure you've actually made a friend. It's not something you're familiar, because you never seek people at parties and the soldiers aren't quite the type of company you enjoy.

Maybe it's because he reminds you of someone else from the most private side of your life, or maybe just because of the easy way he works his charisma.

 

"I'd rather not lose a friend so soon, and to be quite frank I'd much rather see Alternian blood be spilled," he says, with a glint to his blue eyes that isn't entirely due to the artificial magical lights.

What really makes your brain skip is the fact that you don't find John that far off from being a friend. Or at least, someone who you wouldn't mind being friends with.

 

"Oh, don't worry about that. Derse is thirsty for Alternian blood, and it's my personal duty to make sure it gets it. I'll make sure of it," and even if there is no true spell being cast, it holds the same weight and gravity of a promise signed in blood.

 

The voices relish at the thought of getting revenge for the acres lost to the enemy forces, and for the lives of the people that went to war against them thinking they'd maybe make a difference.

At the end of this lays a crossroads, but no matter what your choices will be it will still end in the death of a ruler. You can only hope the head that will roll won't be yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my defense, this chapter is really friggin long. I actually had to cut it in two parts because I thought it would get to be too long, and it would take me way too long to updated if I didn't split it. 
> 
> This is, of course, not beta'd so if you find any errors maybe tell me about them and I'll fix them! Writing is hard and I don't know why I'm doing this to myself. I just hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> (also a little star to whoever guesses who the mentioned person in Dirk's life might be. Hint: it's easy)


	4. Of the Lunar Waltz

It's easy to fall into easy routines out on the front. Wake up at the break of dawn, eat a little and train a lot alongside what remains of the men that chose to leave their families behind to serve their kingdom. Go to sleep late at night hoping no sentinel will yell in the night for enemy troops sneakily approaching the camp.

 

Rinse and repeat, with the occasional strategy meeting and the battles that keep leaving the soldiers worse and worse off after each and every single one. It's simple, basic, dealing with soldiers is much easier than it is to deal with courtiers.

Especially Dersite ones.

 

There's no time to lie to each other and stab your brothers in arms when the threat of being run through by an Alternian blade is much larger than that of losing juicy gossip. Between the walls of the capital, it's easy for boredom to set in and nosiness to become a defining feature of the people.

 

It's exhausting on a normal day, let alone when there is a ball to be attended. Preparing yourself for the effort of fake smiles and excessive drinking on the nobles' part, you take most of the afternoon to yourself.   
  
You suppose you can afford to do it now that you know of the Prospitian King's intentions when it comes to the upcoming alliance.

 

Still, it feels like a terrible waste of time when there are so many things you should be doing instead of entertaining guests at a ball thrown in the name of the Prospitian delegation coming, but effectively being exclusively for the nobles that need to be kept busy with social activities and gatherings. You'd compare them to children, always needing someone to keep them preoccupied, but you're afraid that it would be foolish. Children have a certain innocence to their methods that the Dersite upper class clearly lacks.

 

Unused to it now, you wonder how they seem to enjoy having so many layers of heavy fabric and jewels to weigh them down. All the layers of expensive velour and brocade, a blatant show of money and power, covering up probably more than just silk undergarments and delicate fans. You would know how easy it is to hide knives and poisoned pouches away into the folds of a fancy jacket.

 

In the sea of purples and blacks, the bright colors of the Prospitian delegation stick out as stars in the evening sky. It's easy to notice the members of the foreign court as they seem to be generally taller and with darker complexions than your own people.   
  
You hope they're keeping their guard up. The relationship between your two countries has never been one full of conflict, but the fear of the exotic and new is strong. The fact that your country is already at war with another is probably the only thing that's keeping the courtiers at bay.

 

Among the unfamiliar heads of the guests, you spot the pointed sparkle of the Glass Crown. It's safe to assume it's perched atop King John's messy hair. It would be a good idea to speak to him first at the ball. Give off a good impression by following the arbitrary etiquette rules that govern the palace life. You hate balls with a passion.

 

The only thing that differs from the balls you attended as a teenager is that now the Iron Crown's weight rests atop your red curls and not your father's cornsilk locks.   
  
And there's also the foreign spots of stark white of the embroidered gowns and suits the Prospitian nobles are wearing. It contrasts with the black marble of the ballroom's flooring, and the dark, heavy fabric of your own courtier's clothes in a way that you could bet Derse has rarely ever seen.

 

Right as the orchestra hidden away in a corner of the ballroom moves on to a new tune, King John seems to notice you approaching him and his entourage. You don't think you've ever taken part of a royal ball and had people actually genuinely smile at you when they spot you. It's curious at best.

 

"King Dirk! I'm glad you're finally here to grace us with your presence! I was just telling my cousin here about the lovely wines your servants have been offering us all evening," he says, probably a bit tipsy from the dark wine in his half-empty glass. "Oh, but where are my manners, let me introduce my cousin. This is Lady Jade of House Harley, my dear cousin, and most prized councilor!"   
  
You're surprised there's no drink sloshing going on as he gestures to aforementioned cousin.

 

As she bows her head to you, you can recognize some similarities between the two. The height for one, and the same mischievous glint into their bespectacled eyes. The similarities stop there, though. Lady Jade seems to be built for outdoor life, with much darker skin than John, and eyes the same shade as spring buds.   
  
"It's my honor to meet you in person, King Dirk! I've heard many tales of your achievements, and I've been looking forward to meeting the man behind the legend for quite some time. I'm sure you won't disappoint!" she says, bubbly in the way you've come to expect from most Prospitians.

 

You bow your head to her as well, "I would hate to, Lady Jade. I'm sure I could answer any eventual questions that you may have whenever there are fewer ears around to hear about my secrets."   
  
Surprisingly enough, she seems to be satisfied by your answer, if the widening smile on her lips is enough of a hint for you to go by. "I'll hold you to that, King Dirk. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I might go enjoy the festivities and the exotic music, and leave the two of you to your boring King talk!" she says right before scampering off at surprising speed for someone wearing heeled boots. Huh.

 

Your bafflement must be easy to see in your eyes since you hear John's laugh come from where you've forgotten he was standing. "Jade is definitely an energetic young lady, but she's also very easy to get along with. I've known her most of my life, even though she rarely comes with me on political trips. She prefers hunting in her estate by the Northern border or working on some of her confusing research. Jade is one of the most talented scientists and alchemists in Prospit," he says, pride clear in his tone.

 

"I would love to learn more about her work from her, then. I've always found the Prospitian fascination for science over magic very interesting," you answer thoughtfully, taking a sip from a glass of wine put in your hands by a passing servant. From the taste, it's probably one from your late mother's cellar. It's a very high-quality wine, and the memory catches you by surprise.   
  
John's perception skills must be better than you've given him credit for so far because he puts down his own glass on a nearby table and gestures to the large empty balcony just off to the side of the ballroom. Either that, or he's just as uncomfortable around so many people and such loud music as you are.

 

"I would love to take a breath of clean night air, would you like to accompany me?" it's an offer as good as that of chests of gold and jewels. You nod and guide him through the mass of mingling bodies toward the safe and dark haven of the balcony. He doesn't seem to have any problems to keep up with you, despite the many courtiers who you're sure would love to get their hands on either or both of you.

 

Once you get outside, you can already feel the drop in temperature compared to the inside. There isn't much space separating the two of you from the rest of the guests, but the loudness subsides and leaves room for the night to cool you down and bring you the smell of sea salt and the sparse blooms from the castle's modest garden.

 

You watch intently as John takes a deep breath and leans against the stone railing of the balcony, his glass dangling between long fingers as he plays with the stems. If he were to drop it, it would smash itself against the garden path. Fortunately enough, he doesn't seem to have had that much to drink, and his hands are steady.

 

"This side of the castle only has a limited view of the side garden and the houses of the rich. Not much of a spectacle, I'm afraid. It's the East side that has a gorgeous view of the vertical drop into the ocean and the silhouette of Cathne, if the weather allows it," that would be the view that your bedchambers offer. One of the limited privileges of living in the King's Quarters.

 

"Cathne?" John asks, confusion clearly written on his moonlit face.

 

"That would be our biggest island, slightly to the north of Gealach and separated from the coast by a stretch of many small islands and turbulent waters. One of the royal vacation homes is there, along with some small towns that heavily rely on fishing and trading," you tell him, remembering your many geography lessons from your childhood and the maps upon maps you've been hunched over since the crown was passed onto you.

 

You can almost see John's cheeks flush in embarrassment. You did not expect him to know about your country's geography, especially considering your knowledge of Prospitian land is limited at best.   
  
The voices revel in their perceived superiority, but you just approach the railing and rest your forearms on top of it, also looking away into the horizon.

 

It's silent for many minutes, only the sound of the music changing behind you and the laughter of inebriated courtiers behind you, before John decides to break it.

 

"You know," he begins, "I was very worried about this visit. Despite your reputation as a strategist and fighter, losing this war would be disastrous for both of our countries.  
"It's been going on for years and I only ever hear of the advancing Alternian forces, and of more Dersite refugees crossing the border to try and escape from being murdered by the Empress' forces. It's terrible."

 

He sighs deeply, swirling the contents of his wine glass absently as he speaks. "What if the war ends with Dersite defeat? What if the Empress goes for Prospit next? What if she manages to conquer the whole continent, and she keeps taking innocent lives? There are so many questions and so many worst-case scenarios in this situation that I have been barely able to sleep at night since my coronation. It's incredible I even managed to get this far, that's for sure. I admire how composed you look at all times, I doubt I'd be able to achieve that if I were you. And I might just be if we don't stop that wretched witch."

 

Once he stops to catch his breath, you reply. You don't look at him, but over at the houses sprawling outside the gates of the castle, and the land and faraway mountains in the dark distance.   
  
You need to commit this to memory, as you may never see this sight unchanged again.

 

"It's a King's duty to keep a mask of competence in front of his people. It would be bad if everybody in Derse knew of the many sleepless nights and hours upon hours of pacing that go on behind closed doors. I do not show my weaknesses because I cannot afford to, and at this point, I doubt I could in the first place. It's not in my blood to wear my heart on my sleeve like your people do.  
  
"Being steady in front of such a threat is the only thing that keeps me and my army afloat. Even then, we're barely getting by. Your help will be of immense use to us, King John. I cannot express my gratitude well enough, but know that if I will still be breathing at the end of it all, you will have a friend across the border."

 

It feels incredibly foreign to you, baring your thoughts like that and leaving yourself indebted to someone of such power, not only thanks to the pinpricks of pain in your mind from the discontented entities inhabiting your crown.   
  
But it's worth it, if only for the smile you receive in return from John. The genuine nature of it still surprises you, but you risk it for once and smile back.

 

"We should go back inside, now. I believe the ravenous courtiers might miss our presence if we're absent from the ballroom for too long. Not to mention that the Waltz shall begin soon, and it's our duty to begin the dance as the highest ranking people invited," you tell him, pulling away from the railing reluctantly.   
  
He seems just as reticent to leave the pleasant night air behind and return to the terribly overcrowded ballroom behind you, but you both steel yourself for what could easily be the first and last time you'll get to experience this with someone you might even call a friend.

 

* * *

 

 

It's a tradition that has been around for more than anybody can even remember, that of marking the true start of a royal ball with a dance of the Lunar Waltz.   
  
The song hasn't changed in hundreds of years, with its haunting beats and high violin notes it is perhaps one of the best-known melodies that Derse has to offer.

 

Its rhythm and steps are representative of the Lunar Phases, the tempo following the path of a waxing and waning Moon on the sky of black marble that is the floor of the ballroom.   
  
It holds the same amount of mystery and dark magic as the entirety of Derse's territory does.

 

You remember that when you were a child you saw your parents dance to it, dazzling in a ballroom that felt much larger to your youthfully innocent eyes. It happened rarely, for your father was always away trying to fight off the Alternian army, and your mother was with him, fighting in the front lines with her magic and fierce nature as her weapons.   
  
It did not take you long to learn the steps, when your tutors started insisting you were to know how to lead in the dance, as heir to the throne and crown.

 

This will be the first time that you actually perform the Lunar Waltz in an official setting, in front of guests excited to see if you'll be up to their expectations.   
  
You don't mind giving them something to talk about.

 

"King John, would you join me for a dance? The Lunar Waltz is a Dersite custom that's been around for many hundreds of years," you tell him once you reach the center of the ballroom, your gloved hand stretched ahead of you in offering.   
  
"Follow my lead if you're unsure about the steps, but I'm sure the natural magic of the melody will make it easy for you to figure it out."

 

He seems hesitant still, but it's not exactly an offer that he can refuse. A classic custom you're sure he was made aware of by the servants that were sent to his rooms before the ball.   
  
Confidently, he nods to you and takes your hand. "It will be my honor, King Dirk."

 

All the guests have left room for the two of you to dance, and are already pairing up in couples of different standing. They will start dancing as well after the first cycle will be completed. For now, it feels like you're putting on a show for their enjoyment.

The music only starts once you and John are standing in position, bowing before taking each other's hands as the first beat begins.

 

The rest of the night becomes a blur of spinning candlelight and the headiness of Derse's magic, and the stark contrast of the embroidered white cotton of Prospit's delegation.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here's chapter 4? I'm terribly sorry this took me so long and it's also underwhelmingly short and boring, but I guess I kind of lost my drive along the way? I will try to write more between art and more art, and I hope you guys will enjoy what's to come?   
> Also I know I keep adding chapters but I have lots of stuff in my notes (I have everything written down like the whole plot and stuff) and even if it spooks me the heck out to have so much to write I can't wait to get to the Good Bits
> 
> (also i know this seems like it's only johndirk stuff but this is still theoretically the prologue, next chapter the Main Binch is gonna be mentioned so look forward to that!)


	5. Of diplomacy and stakes too high

The moon has long since abandoned its spot in the sky by the time all the chairs inside the large meeting room have been filled.

  
As the last person comes into the room and occupies their seat, you revise the plan in your mind. There are so many ways it could go wrong, but you have to hang tightly onto the scarce chances it will not.

 

It's exhausting in its own right, to have the propensity you have to calculate all the worst case scenarios and keep them in mind with priority over the ways thing could go well. Pessimism has been rooted in your nature for way longer than the negativity broadcasted by your crown has been directly placed atop your head.

 

You had the common sense not to organize this meeting the day after the ball, knowing full well that the courtiers, diplomats, and probably every courtier and noble in town would be terribly hungover after a night of drinking and partying. 

It seems that your decision was an inspired one, as everyone attending the talks seems to be a lot more lively than they would have been right after the ball.

 

Among the buzzing in your head that comes from all the voices of the chattering groups sat at the table, you see across from you the smiling face of King John. 

You still doubt his sleep has been good ever since he arrived if the bags under his eyes are any indicator, but he's either good at hiding it or good at ignoring it. Either way, it's reassuring to know this won't be a debate or even a fight, but simply compromise between two agreeing parties.

 

Once you feel a lull in everybody's conversation, you get up from your overly ornate seat. Everyone immediately seems to silence themselves. It's a pleasant kind of power, not having to be loud to be heard.

 

"I believe it is time for us to begin today's talks," you begin, "everyone is present and there have been documents and records laid on the table right in front of you if you haven't already noticed them and started reading."

Your tone suggests that you clearly expected that out of everyone in the room, and it's only two members of the Prospitian court that seem actually startled by that, and they start quickly going over the papers as you continue.

 

"You all know that the reason why the Prospitian delegation has been invited to the capital is to ensure a strong alliance, to allow us to defeat the shared threat that the Empress' army poses both our kingdoms.

Outside of official meeting rooms, King John and I have discussed the alliance between Prospit and Derse, and have found each other to be of similar mindsets when it comes to the urgency of getting rid of the foreign militia that's slowly but surely invading our country."

 

John is letting you speak without intervening, attentive despite his gaze seemingly being on one of the papers laid before him. 

You definitely appreciate the fact that he's letting you get your introduction speech out without interruption, which is something you rarely get in the rowdier atmosphere of either Dersite court or when surrounded by soldiers.

 

"What has yet to receive a full presentation is the actual plan that I have devised, with the covert help of my Secret Guard's Captain, to actually start fighting back against the Empress' forces," you say, getting up from your chair to have easier access to the map laid in the middle of the large table.

 

It's not the same map that you've used for countless times with your strategists on the front, and it looks more clean and detailed, but you know the northern area better than the palm of your hand.

 

You make a fast circular motion with your finger on the middle of the area, completing it with what looks like a sigil that lights up in sparks before the small flags and sculptures representing the different divisions of Dersite, Alternian, and even Prospitian armies. 

The lights seemingly keeping them in motion are color-coded: Derse's are purple, Prospit's are yellow, and Alternia's are bright red.

 

You distinctly hear the gasps of what sounds like multiple foreign diplomats. You suppose that's fair, considering magic is a lot more uncommon across the border than it is in your home country. 

The vague presences atop your head seem to relish in the idea of showing off your power, but you ignore their boasting voices and continue your planned explanation of the strategy.

 

"I assume that as it did not really concern Prospit until recently, news about the ongoing war haven't been very detailed, or accurate. Not to mention Dersite tendencies to create rumors and sensationalize things.

Therefore I shall make a quick summary of the current state of affairs in the north, for everybody's benefit."

 

With a small motion of your left hand, a small dotted line appears on the map, following the current situation of the front. It touches the edges of the mountains and stretches out dangerously close to a couple cities of importance.

 

"To the north of this line, are territories under current Alternian domination. On the map are marked some of the biggest cities we've lost, the most important of which being Aben-Lloesy, which was our best connection to the Western Ocean trade routes," you tell your small audience, pointing to a city marked with a magically glowing "X".

 

"There are raids being carried out by our enemy almost every week, and the small villages at the base of the mountains are very easy for them to overtake. Thankfully, the tough terrain is slowing down their advance, so they're concentrating their troops to the west, where the hills are easier to navigate."

 

Even as the king, getting your people so interested in your words is rather rare. Your diplomats and John's are both looking at the map, piecing together the information they already have and that they're receiving just now.

You doubt they expected the front to be so advanced, especially considering that a lot of the information coming from the front tends to get lost or intercepted on its way to the east of Derse. There's worry in everyone's eyes, including those of King John. You can't blame them.

 

"As you can see, if we don't push back now, we'll lose two of our major cities and our best-guarded fort. Not to mention the fact that if they manage to get Inverdwyn, Tain-Ayr, and Fort Caerleina they'll have dominion over almost half of Derse. The rest will be child's play to conquer. This might as well be our last chance to make a stand," you pause after that. Both to catch a breath and for dramatic emphasis.

 

"This, is where the strategy needs to be put into motion," your finger points down to a small square painted onto the map. Fort Caerleina. 

Close to the border with Prospit, Fort Caerleina has been one of Derse's best forts for centuries. Built way before your time, rather than being made of ornate marble and sharp spires, it looks way sturdier than most buildings in the entire kingdom.

 

You've only visited it once when your father was still alive and the war had barely even gotten to the Aben-Lloesy siege. You don't remember much of it beside its architecture. Clearly built for stability rather than aesthetics, its stone walls are barren of useless decals and decorations, and the only thing decorating its gray figure was the proud flags of Derse. 

Before departing for the capital, you sent orders for the servants stationed there to begin preparing the fort for the arrival of your army, and to try to evacuate the people living in the surrounding area towards the south, past the river and into safer territories. You hope they followed your order.

 

"Fort Caerleina is in the perfect position for what our plans are. Alternian forces have already gained access to the river near the fort, and we've been slowly retreating to bait them into the valley formed by the riverbed. The walls surrounding it are tall enough that it would be almost impossible for them to consider a sideways attack, and it would protect us from two sides, leaving only the entrance and exit to the valley free. 

No matter what we do, this battle will end up in a slaughter. Unless we get Prospitian help to turn the tide, we might easily lose half of our troops. At that point, we'll be mice at the mercy of a cruel cat."

 

With another quick motion of your hand, you dispel the magic keeping the lights in motion over the large map set on top of the wooden table, and gesture for a servant to take the rolled up map and leave behind a second, smaller but more detailed one depicting the area that you'll be focusing on. 

You bring back the spell, now the symbols having changed into actual shapes, and small markers telling the approximate size of each division.

 

"Once we've backed ourselves fully into the valley, we'll have barely enough space to maneuver forward, or backward. We won't be able to retreat effectively if things go south, so it's a terribly risky operation if it doesn't go well," you say, trying to keep your doubts about it for yourself. You cannot afford to show any kind of weakness. Not now. 

The small glowing armies start moving at your command, simulating what the actual battle might play out if it were just your forces against the enemy. It does not fare well for the glowing purple battalions.

 

"This is where Prospitian help would come in handy. While we keep the Alternian troops distracted, and block them inside the valley, you'll have time to silently bring your troops to attack the Empress' army from behind them. Effectively closing them in from all sides. 

Caution and secrecy will be of utmost importance, but even if the Prospitian troops are discovered it would still be of huge help to split the attention of the Alternians into two fronts, pushing them in from both sides."

 

As you speak, yellow troops appear on the map, effectively decimating the Alternian forces. During your discussions with your strategists, you've gone through many simulations of this very maneuver. Going over each and every way it could go wrong for you, and trying to make out what the most realistic outcome could be.

You've never been one for optimism, but even the smallest possibility of it being feasible would be enough. Despite the many things that you dislike about Derse, you would still give your life to protect its people. It's your duty as the king.

 

"We don't have much time left before it will be too late. With the way the war is going we only have perhaps until the end of summer. If we're lucky. We need to act now that we still stand a chance."

 

Once you're done explaining your plan, and the magic showing your plan has been paused on the map to give space to the other attending members to speak, you finally return to your seat. You're not unused to spending a lot of time bent over maps and plans, explaining how things could work and how they could fail. 

Now the ball is in King John's court, and you look at him directly. Everyone is waiting for his reply, but he still takes a couple of thoughtful seconds before he turns his attention from the map to you.

 

"I won't deny that if successful, this plan could truly turn around the tides of the war, but at the same time, it would mean that my men will have to briefly be in enemy territory to access the back of the Alternian army. There are many many ways this could go wrong, King Dirk," he sounds like he's more speaking to himself than directly to you.

 

"I am well aware of that. I have been going over every possible outcome I could think of before pitching this plan to you. The Empress is a skilled general, and she could easily call onto reinforcements. There could be spies to tell her the plan beforehand. We could lose too many men. The list goes on and on, really.

But I cannot afford to stand back and watch that witch take my kingdom as if it is hers to do with as she pleases. If there's even the smallest chance that we could end this war in our favor, then I'm willing to risk it. This is what I have to offer, if you have any better options I would gladly hear them."

 

You settle into your chair, hands folded onto the table. The crown on your head shining into the artificial light of the room, the entities it belongs to rejoicing at the idea of enemy blood being spilled onto Derse's dark soil.

 

King John stays silent for a little while longer, a calculating expression on his face as he regards the map with attention. You know what's going through his mind. If the plan doesn't work, he'd lose too many men. And he will have started Prospit's own war against Alternia way sooner than intended.

Prospit has always been peaceful, despite its very well trained armies, and you doubt it's ready to face a war against the threat that the Empress poses.

 

After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, John speaks.

 

"I could easily be sending my men to their death right now, but the alternative would be having them patiently wait in their beds for it later. This is one of the riskiest decisions I've ever taken in my short life, King Dirk," he says, slowly, weighing every word before it leaves his mouth. 

"But I decide to trust your judgment. I hope this will be the beginning of the end of a war that's already lasted way too long."

 

It takes you moments to process what he's said, but the relief that courses through you once you do makes you realize how tense you've been since the meeting started. He could have refused. He could have changed his mind. He could have said your plan is folly and told you that you're going to be slaughtering more innocents than you'd be saving. 

But he didn't. You hope your gratitude reaches him despite your unchanged expression.

 

"I will do everything in my power to make sure neither of us will regret it."

 

* * *

 

 

It's hours later that you finally are able to leave the meeting room. Your head is ringing with how much talk about resources and boring details you've been going through for almost half a day. 

You know there has been food delivered to your room, but despite having achieved your goal of securing Prospitian aid, your stomach is closed in worry. The crown on your head feels like a weight making your migraine worse.

 

You've long since given up on trying to make them any better since they're probably just caused by the presence of more voices in your brain than you're built for. At the moment you just wish to take your jacket off and rest your brain for a couple seconds.

The world seems to have other plans in store for you.

 

Loud steps against the marble flooring of the hallway echo behind you, as well as the now familiar voice of King John. You assume he wants to go over more details in the relative privacy of being outside a full room. 

You steel yourself for another bout of diplomatic talks and reassurances that you'll do anything in your power.

 

Stopping your steps to wait for John to catch up with you, you can easily notice that there's still a worried crease on his brow. You doubt it will go away any time soon, these aren't times for serenity.

 

"Is there a problem, King John?" you ask, trying to keep your voice void of your exhaustion. Yet another thing you've grown accustomed to.

 

"No, not really. And I've told you that John is fine, we're friends," he seems to be swallowing down discomfort to be pleasant around you just as much as you are. You cannot blame him for it. "I just wanted to- hm. I'm not sure how to say it in a way that will not make anybody take offense." 

As he hesitates, you tilt your head in curiosity at his words. After almost six hours of incessant discussion, your patience for waiting on other people's words has grown rather thin.

 

"Just say it as it is, John."

He doesn't seem to be particularly put off by your tone, probably just as eager to retire to his rooms to relax as you are.

 

"I just want to ask you to bring as many men to their families as you can. I am not a very good leader so I won't be there to command the men I'll send you. Thankfully my general is incredibly more talented than I am in that regard, and I am sure the two of you will be a perfect match," he says, a sly smile on his face and fully sounding like he knows something you don't.

"Just... take care of them. You're the highest ranking official they answer to, and they deserve to see their wives, husbands, and kids again."

 

You blink. This is... uncommon. It's not commonplace in Derse to make such requests, and it could very easily be considered a slight against your abilities as a decision maker. But the honesty behind it makes the intent clear. 

You close your eyes as you remove the crown from your head, silencing the noise for the first time since you woke up. You want your words and thoughts to be truly yours for now.

 

With the sharp points of the crown digging into your side, you put a hand on John's solid shoulder. "This war has already taken too many lives. Even if it takes my own life, I'll do everything in my power to stop the Empress. I can promise you as much." 

Rarely do you let sincerity pervade your voice, but there are things more important than an image to keep up and a reputation to respect.

 

It seems that you said the right thing, because John's worried frown is smoothed down ever so slightly by your words, and he smiles at you with all of his pearly white teeth on show. 

Well, you suppose you wouldn't mind returning his smile with one of your own.

 

"By the way, I'm not sure I've ever heard of this Prospitian general you mentioned," you add before turning away. Sure enough, Prospit has never really been a warmongering country, but at the same time its army and its true capacity have always been kind of a secret. "What kind of person are they?"

John's only response is yet another confusing, sly smile.

 

"Oh, I'm sure you'll love him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less time between updates and more words? unbelievable!   
> Actually, I tried to get this out now because i've got a lot of stuff going on in my life at the minute, and i might not be able to write much in the near future, so please enjoy this for now! (it's probably not going to be too long but i'd rather warn everyone first)
> 
> As for actual chapter notes, how about that cheeky foreshadowing? tell me your thoughts if you want to, i'd love to hear them!


	6. Of faraway sights

It is rather odd to wake up in the morning without the familiar lilac light falling like a blanket over the furniture of your bedroom. Instead of that familiar sight, there is that of a much darker light, occasionally struck by flashes of bright color shining through.

 

Seconds after, thunder.

 

Ah, that makes sense. You slowly turn around to face the large windows, and are greeted with a sight that is rarely seen anymore in Gealach's sky: the light rains are approaching from the far horizon, making the ocean shine in rainbow colors and the walls echo with the sound of an approaching thunderstorm.

 

That should put everyone in town in a good mood, then.

 

Unfortunately, you seem to be exempted from that, as the sight only reminds you of the rapidly approaching departure of the Prospitian delegation and the thought of what could very well be your final battles.

 

Sighing, you sit up among your many richly woven blankets, and stretch your back. As per usual, your breakfast has been carefully laid out on a small tray sat at the foot of your bed.

 

Sweet tarts made of blueberries and lavender, yogurt with fruit and cereal in it, and even a fruit salad garnished with violets. Thankfully, a large cup of dark coffee has been provided to you as well. 

You rarely have a taste of the ever-changing menu offered to you in the morning, but perhaps you could indulge for once.

 

It is important to keep your stomach ready, as a long day awaits you. Not that most days aren't tiring, but you'd take drills and strategy meetings over politics any day.

 

Pushing your covers aside, you place your feet on the plush rug set on the side of your bed. Of course, how could a King be forced to feel the cold stone in the morning. If you had any less maturity you'd just push it under the bed in spite.

 

Instead, you start preparing yourself for the day. Eating and downing the still warm, dark drink takes you only a couple of minutes. 

Your clothes have been laid out on the dresser once more, and their color (darker even than what you usually wear) makes you think that the approaching rainbow rain has been noticed by more than just yourself.

 

That's good, you suppose. People who are feeling hopeful are easier to manipulate into doing what most suits your plans.

 

You look down onto the Iron Crown glinting occasional rainbows in your hands. 

Not everyone in Derse likes such hopeful omens. But then again it's only fair that beings of pure Darkness wouldn't be pleased by the sight of an approaching storm of color.

 

Silently, you place the crown atop your head and head out of your room, without thinking about it further. You've long since grown bored of trying to understand what the Crown's deal is. It's best to just accept it as it is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Waiting for you at the bottom of the main staircase is a person you have grown dangerously close to. A friend, even.

 

King John is dressed in one of his finest ensembles yet, made of bone white linen and sparkling with countless tiny gemstones woven into the fine fabric. The opposite of you in every conceivable way.

 

"You know, it is customary to wear one's darkest garb when the rainbow rain's approaching. It'd be disrespectful to be brighter than the rain itself," you tell him. 

Thankfully he immediately picks up on the friendly nature of your quip directed at him. He's gotten rather good at discerning Dersite sarcasm. You're quite sure you'll miss his good-natured smiles at your dry humor.

 

"You should know me better by now, King Dirk. You're well aware I enjoy being the center of everyone's attention here in Derse," he pauses with a crooked grin on his handsome face

"plus, I'm sure that there would be no way for me not to stand out anyhow. Go big or go home."

 

Letting out a mock exasperated huff through your nose, you walk down the last steps while he turns around towards a window that shows just enough of the ocean to be able to see prismatic reflections coming from the angry waves.

 

"My delegation and I will leave soon," and you can barely recognize him from a couple moments prior. 

He's gone all pensive, looking out of the window while multicolored flashes highlight the worried crease on his brow. He looks significantly older than the youthful John you've befriended in the past few weeks.

 

"Yes, I have sent word to make sure you shall have enough supplies to last you through the trip across Derse. And a letter that shall grant you anything else you might need on the way from any Dersite shop on the way," it's so much easier to fall back into your role. 

You know exactly what he'd wanted from you, perhaps a heartfelt goodbye or something similar. But you are not that type of person. Haven't been for quite a while.

 

"That's King Dirk's goodbye to me, yes. But what does Dirk have to say to me?"

 

Note for self, never expect a Prospitian to give you the option of an easy retreat. A good trait in an ally, a bad one in a foe. 

Sighing, you approach him by the windowsill.

 

"I'd rather hear what you've got to tell him first," you counter. You're just as stubborn as he is after all.

 

"I'm not sure I should say it in public, but then again my worries are nothing that doesn't also concern your people." 

You wait patiently for him to continue, your shoulder against the stone arch framing the large glass panes separating the two of you from a drop of over a hundred feet.

 

"Once I leave, and you'll return to the front, then the final stretch starts. This war has been going on for so long, and the end is theoretically already in sight. My general has already received a letter from me, and he's soon leaving with your same destination. 

"I wish I could do more than just watch from thousands of miles away, but this is not something that an inexperienced king should risk ruining."

 

In the distance, thunder. Closer to you, John's deep sigh.

 

"I am very well aware that this could be the last I see you and your country by extension. I pray to the gods it won't be."

 

You have never been particularly good at soothing other people's worries, especially when they've been so sincerely expressed to you. 

Shifting your weight from a leg to the other, you return your full attention to John's face.

 

His expression is full of what you can only describe as a whirlwind of emotion. It takes you by surprise as you try to find the proper words. 

Instead, you gently push his face back toward the far horizon, where the thunderstorm has approached the shore even more.

 

"Do you know what the rainbow rain actually means? Why everyone has been so uncharacteristically chipper all morning, despite wearing full black and being busier than a colony of ants?" 

He only shrugs one of his broad shoulders.

 

"Well, let's just start by saying that Derse has always enjoyed assigning meaning to things. Everything symbolizes something here. We believe in omens and hints that we get from the earth or from the skies. It's the main reason why it's easier for my people to channel magic, even if it's of the Dark type.

"But the rainbow rain? That's one of the rarest phenomena we get here. It's considered quite a good omen, especially if you're starting a journey with the colored thunder at your back."

 

He looks pensive, but a layer of worry has lifted from his face. Probably the best you'll be able to do. 

"I'm... not the optimistic type, and I prefer relying on realistic facts and figures I can calculate on parchment with certainty. But this isn't just regular rain. It's magical. I've rarely found magic to strike in the wrong way, only in mysterious ways.

"I cannot tell you not to worry but... try keeping your optimism up, it's quite the rare quality here across the border, and I appreciate the sight of it more than you'd think."

 

His smile is almost as blinding as the spectrum of color outside.

 

* * *

 

 

It's hours later that you get a moment to yourself to catch your breath. 

The delegation has left the palace, leaving a trail of dark dust behind them as their horses took the brightly colored figures of the Prospitian courtiers away.

 

You can't say you didn't hate the sight of it.

 

After your last tête-à-tête with King John, he'd slipped back into his kingly persona, as did you. It hadn't been hard to return to your well-practiced role, the comfort of a part you've played for years keeping your true thoughts and worries hidden away from the public.

 

Compartmentalising is something you do rather well, so you concentrate on seeing your guests off until you cannot postpone thinking about your own upcoming departure any further. 

 

The preparations have already been started a few days back, so that you could leave as soon as you didn't have any other obligation in the capital.

 

You only have about half an hour to yourself to get into your riding gear before you'll be leaving the castle behind as well. 

You're relieved in a way, as it means that the time for diplomacy has truly ended, but at the same time, it means that now the hard part is to begin.

 

Accompanied by the sound of rolling thunder you undress. Most of all you're glad you'll be leaving the stuffy clothing of a King behind and getting back into the comfortable garb of a soldier. Crown and rich fabrics aside. 

You're ready with time to spare, but instead of lingering in your rooms any further you briskly walk down to the courtyard. The few guard members that are to accompany you are still getting the last few things done.

 

The only horse that has nobody fretting around it is an already saddled black mare, with her forehead marked by a white heart shape. That would be your horse. 

She seems to be the least spooked horse in the entire courtyard, the other anxious about the almost constant flashes of multicolored light and rolling thunder.

 

You approach with a sure step, grabbing an apple from a passing servant on your way to her. She whinnies as you get closer, and sniffs curiously as you offer her the treat. 

When you were younger, and she was still being broken in by your father, you were rather scared of having your hands closer than necessary to a horse's teeth. It's not a problem anymore.

 

"That's a good girl ... I think we've relaxed enough, this past week. Ready for another go at getting our country back, Kelpie?" the people around you are way too busy to even pay attention to you whispering to your horse as if she could respond. 

She doesn't seem to understand you anyhow, but the pets on the side of her strong neck please her well enough.

 

Once the buzzing of busy servants slows down around you, you figure it's time for you to actually leave. One last look at the impossibly tall spires of your castle, backdropped by shifting hues reflected on gray clouds, and you're on the saddle.

 

Kelpie looks all too pleased, and beats the dirt under her hooves. That's a good enough answer as any to your previous question. 

You don't even have to say anything for your guard to hop onto their horses as well.

 

There's no speech that you need to deliver to a courtyard full of tired servants who are eager to get back to their usual work, so you seat yourself comfortably onto the saddle and direct your horse out. 

It doesn't surprise you to see a crowd forming outside the gates of the castle. It's almost a procession all the way outside of town.

 

The sheer amount of people lining the main street makes you squeeze Kelpie's sides to go faster, the sound of hooves on stone echoing against the tall walls of the townhouses. 

You only allow your back to relax once you're out of the gates. You don't take the same path the Prospitian took on their way out of town, going north instead.

 

You let yourself look back only once, as it might as well be the last time you see Gealach standing proud and still free. 

Filling your eyes with the sharp, black shapes, you spur your horse to move faster.

 

The rainbow rains begin falling on the capital as the sound of thunder accompanies you to your next destination.

 

Fort Caerleina.

And after that, hopefully, the end of a war that's lasted too long.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to send me hate on tumblr for taking so long


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